Learning Curve
by Itarille Celebrindal
Summary: After the betrayal by Catherine and Brass, Nick receives a letter from a friend. Deeply hurt, he considers the invitation within as a much needed break and ends up learning more about himself than he'd ever thought possible. Nick centric, no OC romance.
1. Letter from a Friend

Disclaimer: If it looks CSI related, sounds CSI related, and reads CSI related…well, then it probably is. If it doesn't, it's probably mine.

It wasn't often that Nick lost his temper, but he'd managed to restrain himself until he reached his apartment, instead releasing the hurt and anger into the wall beside his front door.

"Damnit, Catherine! You should have trusted us!" he growled, turning to throw his keys onto a table and grab the mail beside it.

He'd thought they were a family and it hurt him to the core that Catherine would go so far as to stage a crime scene so that they would believe the lie. He couldn't believe that she hadn't trusted them, her _team_.

Nick growled again in anger as he ripped open his refrigerator and nabbed a beer from the top shelf. Popping off the cap, he sunk gratefully into the worn leather of his couch and tossed the mail onto the coffee table in front of him. There was nothing a good football game and beer couldn't cure...or at least drive out of his mind for a good amount of time. Unfortunately, the football gods were not on his side today either and after grimacing at both the score and the quarterback as he fumbled the snap, he pulled the forgotten mail into his lap and slid his finger under the lip of the envelope, lifting it open.

"Bills. I hate bills," Nick muttered, setting aside both the water and credit card bills that had chosen that day to grace his mail stack. A few more credit card offers got tossed in a separate pile before his eyes landed on the somewhat messily handwritten address on a standard envelope.

Nicky Stokes 

_324 Sunset Ridge, Apt. 1900A_

_Las Vegas, Nevada 89103_

A bit of a smile curved his lips as he recognized the scrawl that belonged to the only person who would actually address a letter with "Nicky" instead of "Nick." Alasen Caufield had been a college friend of his and one of the few girls he'd known back then that wasn't in a sorority. It had been both her caustic wit and insistance that he hang out with some of the "GDIs" that had most likely prevented him from enjoying his fraternity as thoroughly as some of his brothers. She had also been a welcome vacation from his girly sisters as she had been more at home in athletic shorts and a tshirt out playing touch football than exclaiming over the latest mixer t-shirt design and who she was going to nab for the next Date Dash. Unfortunately, much of her time had also been spent making sure that he did not grow an ego comparable to some of the other guys on campus, hence the little devil tail that graced the "y" of "Nicky."

Nicky, Nicky, Nicky… 

_I think there's a very good reason that the Adam Sandler devil's son movie was called Little Nicky, don't you? I hope everything in hot Vegas is treating you right and beating down that ego of yours on a daily basis since I'm not there to do it for you. I know I haven't been in touch much, but in my defense, neither have you. I heard about you on the news though…damn near jumped on a plane to come visit you, but I figured you didn't need anyone else hovering over you at the time._

_I'm still working in the hospital in the ER. I've been pondering a transfer into Trauma Surgery though. You wouldn't believe some of the stuff that comes through here…well, you would given your job, but still. Every time we have a CSI come in, I think of you. Too bad you're not out here in sunny San Diego, I hear they have some job openings for scrawny little level 3's like yourself. But then again, we have water here, you might drown ;-). _

_At any rate, I miss my flag football qb! Ours sucks right now. I'm pretty sure we've got the worst record in the hospital league—those orderlies are kicking ass, man. You should come visit though, get out of the insanity that is LV and enjoy the summer breezes down here._

_-Als_

Even with his bad mood, Nick couldn't help the chuckle that escaped his lips after reading the letter. It was classic Al to the point that he could imagine her writing it, looking exactly as she had back in college, but in scrubs instead of athletic gear, her hair pulled back into her usual sporty ponytail. Alasen was nothing if not consistent. He was scanning the almost illegible writing a second time when he felt his cell phone go off. A quick glance identified the caller as Catherine, probably calling to try to get him to talk after he stalked out on Warrick this morning following shift. Nick took a deep draft from his beer and considered the vibrating phone for a moment before pushing the button to silent the call. Catherine would leave the dutifully concerned message on his voicemail, but he'd be free to ignore it until work tomorrow. Although…he scanned the end of the letter again, noting the vague invitation for a visit…after the betrayal by both Brass and Catherine, he wasn't exactly excited about facing them at work the next day or any following it. Nick prided himself on knowing his friends and trusting them to a fault, so it cut him particularly deeply that the two had conspired to lie to the rest of the team. That wasn't something that he could brush off as easily as Warrick or Greg, or even Sara.

Picking up his cell phone, he flipped through his contacts until he reached the one he wanted.

"Hey Al, it's Nicky. I got your letter today and…"


	2. Welcome to San Diego

Disclaimer: Duck Theory applies here!

Alasen is mine and the experience Nick has en route is one I had myself going home to San Diego once. I'm usually direct to San Diego, but I had to puddle jump through LA once in a little propeller plane and for the infinite times I've been on airplanes…it was one of the scariest approaches ever, lol. We were so low over downtown and every wind gust sent the wings of this old little plane teetering.

Thank you to those people who reviewed; it was a wonderful reception of the random ditty I wrote down after watching the original episode. They always fuel the fire!

* * *

It had been surprisingly easy to get his week off from work, though he had more than cheated by asking Ecklie for the time off instead of Catherine. As suspected, Ecklie had been almost eager to sign off on the request, knowing that it would upset Catherine whom he had already disliked, but was also highly irate with following the "reverse forensics" she and Keppler had pulled. So Nick had surreptitiously said his goodbyes to Sara, Greg, and Warrick and only barely managed to avoid getting pulled into conversation with his wide-eyed supervisor. He knew it was overly childish, especially for a man of his age, but he couldn't help still feeling hurt over the event. Both Sara and Warrick had understood how much it had affected their teammate and Greg had only asked him if his friend was hot and to bring back pictures of the "bikini clad babes" from San Diego, both classic Greg questions that had evoked laughter from everyone in the room.

So it was three hours and a stop in Los Angeles later that Nick found himself disembarking the little commuter plane that had precariously ferried him into San Diego International Airport. He had originally had no idea what Al had been talking about when she asked him which terminal he would be arriving to, but now that he had experienced the singular joy of flying over downtown San Diego at a height of what had seemed like twenty feet above the buildings in a tiny propeller plane that seemed to threaten a crash with every wind gust, he understood the difference between the little commuter terminal that housed American Eagle and United Express and the "real" terminal next door that catered to the larger--and in his opinion, much safer--airplanes.

He threw his carry-on bag over his shoulder and retrieved his only suitcase and then moved slowly from the ridiculously small baggage claim and followed the sole hallway to where he hoped was the arrival area. When he had spoken to her upon landing, he had expected to meet his ride outside at the curb, but he found himself sorely mistaken when upon exiting the hallway, his eyes immediately fell upon the big, red sign with "Little Nicky" scrawled upon it, complete with devil tail. Resigned to sigh to himself, he glanced up from the sign to meet the wickedly sparkling eyes of his college friend. He moved towards her with a roll of his eyes, "I thought you'd meet me on the curb or something. How silly of me."

Alasen Caufield gave him a brilliant smile as she set the sign down. "You think I'd pass up on this opportunity to make fun of you? I don't think so!" They both laughed as he drew her in for a quick hug . "You look thin," she appraised after stepping back to take a look at him.

"I hope that doesn't mean you're going to cook for me!" Nick had exclaimed in mock horror, " I don't think I could survive it and then you'll be the one telling Grissom that the woman who could burn water killed his best CSI."

His friend rolled her own eyes at him and gave him a less than gentle slug on the arm. "Very funny, but you're obviously delusional. We need to get you into some shorts, stat." She smirked at him, then bowed comically, "So after you, Oh Mighty CSI."

"You're a riot too, Al. Really. And I think I'll leave the shorts to you," he replied dryly, glancing at her simple choice of loose khaki shorts and white t-shirt compared to his own jeans and army green shirt. She was just as he had remembered, golden brown hair in a simple ponytail and blue-green eyes glinting with unreleased mirth at his expense. She looked older though, as he did no doubt, with hints of worry lines threatening to make their home at the corners of her eyes. And he suddenly wondered where all the time had gone and how age had suddenly started to creep up on all of them.

"Well, if you're done wandering down memory lane, Nicky, we might get going?"

Her wry voice, as always, broke him from his thoughts and with an abashed little grin, he picked up his suitcase and hurried out the glass doors and into the glaring sunlight with just a hint of ocean breeze.

"Welcome to San Diego, Nicky."


	3. What Was Lost

General Disclaimer Applies

* * *

It was still early in the day and somehow Al had been stupid enough to leave the keys to her BMW M5 in Nick's hands after he dropped her off at work. It was the one thing she had splurged on, with help from her parents, because she was a car fiend like him and most other guys in the world. As a result, she lived in a modest little one bedroom apartment—Nick was sleeping on the couch—and was living rather thriftily on her salary for the time being.

Nick stared for a moment at the keys in his hand, blinking as if to make sure they were not going to disappear. Convinced that they were real, he grinned madly and opened the doors to slide into the driver's side. It took him a moment to figure out how to adjust the seat to his height and he eased out of the garage, flashing Al's parking card at the meter to enter the street. There was no way his own salary would ever pay for a car like this and he was more than determined to enjoy it before his friend regained her sanity and called to demand that he bring her 'baby' back immediately.

Armed with some cash and directions to Rubio's for lunch, he made his way around San Diego, enjoying the powerful car beneath him as he navigated the still busy streets. It was a beautiful day, one of the kind that you'd expect to see on a post card of the beach or with palm trees at sunset. After a few minutes, he allowed himself to relax and enjoy the total lack of humidity and oppressive heat of Las Vegas. With the windows open and the air caressing his face, Nick was almost able to forget that his job had even existed.

He wandered aimlessly for a few hours before finding the Rubio's Al had recommended. Nick ordered the fish taco, two, just as she'd told him to, and then asked for directions to Belmont Park. The drive was thankfully short and he made his way towards the beach, takeout bag in hand. After skillfully avoiding both joggers and skaters, he found a picnic table and settled down to eat, the screams from the roller coaster and other rides echoing behind him.

The tacos were finished quickly, leaving him to survey the people around him, for once without an eye to evidence or any other case related reasons. Children played in the surf, shrieking as the cold waves crashed over them and joggers passed by at a rapid rate, often lost in the music pounding from the earbuds of their iPods.

A beach volleyball game was going on nearby, a bevy of beautiful young coeds and their boyfriends laughing loudly as the ball was traded over the net, coolers of drinks standing by for when the game ended. A little ways down the path, he could see a mother lean down to help a boy to his feet and brush away the tears that had appeared after he fell from his skateboard. She smiled and handed it to him, encouraging him on it once more and they moved away from him, the spill forgotten.

This was the kind of life he had been missing in Las Vegas. So wrapped up in his work was he that such innocent, relaxing past times had been lost to him. So Nick smiled and leaned back, continuing to watch the people around him as time rolled on.

It was exactly what he needed.


End file.
